


The Price We Pay

by Les_MiserableAtBest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, Ramsay is his own warning, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-03 14:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11534367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Les_MiserableAtBest/pseuds/Les_MiserableAtBest
Summary: In that moment Jon fell to his knees. He whispered her name like a prayer.





	1. Jon I

 

_For the watch._

_I want my bride back._

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

_Stick ‘em with the pointy end._

Jon awoke with a gasp. It was dark and cold, but he barely noticed. He sat up and looked at his chest.

He remembers knives in the darkness and then nothing. It comes back to him slowly, the battle of Harhome, Wun-Wun, Arya.

 _‘Gods be good, Arya…’_  He thinks as he remembers the raven from Ramsay Snow. He knows he is still at the wall, he recognizes the room. _‘Betrayed by my brothers.’_  

As he collects his thoughts Ser Davos enters the room, a wild look of disbelief on the Onion Knight's face.

       “She did it. By the seven, the witch really did it.” He exclaims with a breath. Jon looked at him, unsure of what to say, not completely able to fully understand what was happening.

 

* * *

 

Jon was alive, yet he felt like a ghost. Things just passed through him. The first order of business was to put to trial the traitors of the watch. The men who had attacked him in the night. He had no choice but to sentence them to death for their crimes. His father’s words in his mind.

_The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword._

He had, under the advice of Ser Davos, decided to hang the men. Jon pulled the lever and watched them hang, with no remorse, and no emotion.

“For the watch.” He said as the life left the men. He knew then that his time on the wall had ended. He still meant to ride South to Winterfell and have the Bolton Bastard answer for his crimes. His thoughts turned to his sister, remembering the small girl he had left behind all those years ago. He prayed to any god who would listen that she was safe, that Ramsay had not caught up with her. He looked across the ground at Castle Black, searching for Edd. He sought him out and gathered him to his solar. He knew Edd would expect Jon to stay, to re-pledge his life to the Watch. He looked grimly at his brother, his _friend._ He handed him his cloak to Edd, knowing he trusted no other to succeed him. The young man tried to protest, to give it back.

“No Edd, it’s _yours_ , wear it, burn it, do what you wish, but my watch has ended.”

 

* * *

 

There was an alarm at the gate and Jon’s heart stopped.

 _‘Arya.’_ It had to be her. He felt like a greenboy again, back at Winterfell. _‘Little sister.’_ He longed to see her again, to muss her hair, to hold her and assure her she was safe. He crossed the grounds with great speed, watching as the gates opened. He stopped suddenly, unable to move, paralyzed with fear, or maybe hope, he wasn’t sure. Slowly a thin girl entered, wearing a tattered grey dress, and a hooded cloak over her head. She looked up at him and Jon couldn’t breathe. His eyes met hers, the same grey, haunted eyes. Her long face so thin, her hair dull and ragged.

“ _Jon._ ” She breathed and they ran to each other. As he reached her he held her in his arms and fell to his knees. He buried his face in her hair, breathing it in. He whispered her name over and over like a prayer. She sobbed, and he held her even closer.

“Shh, little sister, you’re safe. I have you. _Arya._ You’re mine now, you are safe.” In this moment, despite the fact he knew the world around them may have been falling apart, Jon could not spare a thought for the Others or any Southron War. For the first time in so long he felt safe, he felt at home.


	2. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who left a kudos or a comment! I also wanted to let you know I am combining the book and the show, mostly because this in uncharted territory in the books. Also because I love Brienne and wanted to include her in the story!! Hope you like this chapter.

Arya woke up screaming. Her body wet with sweat. She cried out to the darkness surrounding her, praying her _husband_ would not be there.

When two arms embraced her she tried to fight and she screamed again, until she realized it was not Ramsay. She was not in Winterfell.

      “Shh, you are safe little sister. You are safe.” Arya leaned into him, trying not to cry. She did not succeed. There she was, crying into the chest of her favorite brother, in his arms like she had dreamt of for so long. “Arya,” Jon says her name; his voice is loaded with pain. “We are going to make him pay. We _are_ going to get our home back.” She is quiet, not able to find any words to fill the silence.

* * *

 

In the morning Jon’s steward, or former steward, Arya supposed, brought her a basin to wash herself in and new clothes.

     “I’m not sure if they’ll fit, m’lady, but your brother, well he said you’d be more comfortable in breeches.” Arya looked at the boy, Satin she believed was his name. She managed a smile, nodding graciously. She put a hand to her throat, where she knew it was still bruised and attempted to speak.

      “Thank you. I shall be out shortly.” Her voice was still hoarse and barely more than a whisper. The boy looked at her with pity and ran out. Arya swallowed painfully. She knew why he looked at her like that. Why Jon had not let her out of his arms for hours after her arrival. She did not have to see her reflection to know how she looked. She remembered with perfect clarity how she received every injury.

She dressed quickly, throwing the loose boys’ clothing on, enjoying the freedom of breeches she had not experienced in what felt like forever. She ran some water through her hair before braiding it and rinsed her face off, enough to remove most of the grime.

She met Brienne of Tarth outside of the door, most likely sent by her brother to escort her. Brienne was a true knight and Arya respected her. Brienne had protected both Arya and what was left of Theon on the way to the Wall. It was a dangerous journey, as they were hunted by Bolton men. Theon had left before they reached the wall, a good thing too because Arya did not doubt Jon would have ran him through with his blade before Arya could even protest.

_Stick ‘em with the pointy end._

Arya was limping yet, her hips still not completely healed, but she stood tall through the pain. When she finally reached Jon, she paid no mind to the others in the room and embraced him wholeheartedly. When his arms were around her felt safe, she felt at _home_. She felt like a little girl again. She pulled away and looked into his eyes, the same cold grey as hers, and she smiled softly at him.

     “I am afraid we didn’t get properly introduced last night, I am Brienne of Tarth.” Arya looked back at the tall woman as she spoke. “I pledged my sword to Lady Catelyn Stark before her death and I swore to her I would protect her daughters.” Arya felt Jon tense.

     “Why didn’t you?” He asked coldly. Arya’s eyes widened. Brienne looked taken aback.

      “Jon! I am sorry for my brother, Brienne. He is being stupid. Right, Jon?” She looked at him intensely, but he paid her no mind. Brienne straightened.

       “No, my lady, he is correct. I failed in my duty before, yet I swear to you I will not fail again. I would pledge you my life and my sword, if you would still have me.” Her face stoic, her eyes resolute.

       “Of course. We will need all the help we can get if we are to reclaim Winterfell.” Jon nodded, though he did not apologize.

       “Little sister, may I introduce you to Ser Davos? He served as Hand to Stannis; he swore himself to our cause after Stannis’ death.” Arya looked over the man, he was older than Father would be, but had a kind look about him. He nodded a small bow to her.

       “Pleasure to meet you, my lady.” Arya rolled her eyes.

        “I’m not much a lady, Ser Davos, feel free to call me Arya.” Ser Davos smiled at her.

       “Aye. I figure I can do that.” Arya looked to her brother.

       “So, dearest brother, shall we begin?”

  



	3. Davos I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright this is a short chapter! I mostly wanted to show Jon and Arya's relationship from an outside perspective. I kind of skipped the meeting the northern lords. Next up....Battle of the Bastards!

    Ser Davos was not entirely sure what to make of the young Stark girl since she had arrived at Castle Black on a dying horse. Granted he had spent no time alone with her, as her brother rarely let her out of his sight. She looked like her brother he had noticed, with long, solemn face, and grey eyes. She wore breeches borrowed from some boy in the Watch, and skinny little thing that she was, she almost passed for a boy, despite this he could tell she was a great beauty. He did not know the full extent of damage inflicted upon her, but he had noticed a slight limp, and faded bruises along her neck, as if someone had tried to strangle the girl. The thing he noticed the most about her was that she got Jon Snow to smile. He was a solemn boy, and in these times there was little to smile about.

* * *

 

      Davos had served King Stannis, and held a great respect for the man. He gave him his knighthood, saved him from smuggling. He knew the man was not well loved by the people, but Davos knew that Stannis served for truth and justice above all else. He saw a bit of Stannis in Jon Snow. The former Lord Commander was a great man, and he was kind. He was a natural leader as well, even the Wildlings, the Free Folk who knelt to no king, followed Jon Snow. He had saved them, and they had a sense of honor. Though Davos thought they were strange, he liked Tormund Giantsbane. Even as the man told bawdy jokes around the fire.  
       “Aye, she's a pretty one alright! Almost as pretty as the Lord Crow himself!” He roared with laughter. Davos looked around carefully.  
      “Best be careful not to let him hear you say that about his Little Sister, he’d have your cock.” One of the men, a Notherner perhaps? Someone Davos did not recognize.  
         “Aye he'd sooner let her alone with a pack of rabid dogs before he let a man share her tent!” The men let out another round of wild laughter. Davos shook his head. He decided to go for a walk in the brisk Northern air, though he was not fond of the climate he did not reason to listen to the men any longer. The North did hold a certain beauty. The camp was filled with Northern men and women he saw. Even little Lyanna Mormont, a girl of only 11, had declared her intention to fight in the coming battle for Winterfell. Still, Davos knew they were outnumbered. Arya had sent her sworn shield, Brienne to the Riverlands to hopefully gather what was left of the Tully men.

* * *

 

     At the edge of camp, playing with Ghost as if were a small puppy rather than a full grown direwolf  
was Arya Stark herself, her brother laughing at the pair. Neither of them noticed Ser Davos and carried on as if nobody else existed. Arya smacked him for laughing at her, called him stupid. Davos carried on past them, smiling to himself. It was the first time he had seen the former Lord Commander laugh and for a brief second he saw the boy he was before the war, young and innocent. It was a beautiful sight and he wasn't sure he would see it again, with war on the horizon. He sighed and looked up to the sky, and whispered a silent prayer to any god who would listen.


	4. The Battle of the Bastards

_ Alayne Stone _ : 

_ Alayne dreamt she was dancing with Harrold Hardyng. She was wearing a dress Margarey Tyrell might have worn, her dark hair cascading her shoulders. He was not looking at her, he was looking past her. Alayne stopped to look behind her. She came face to face with Sansa Stark, with her red hair, tears in her eyes. She looked like she had in King’s Landing, at the Sept of Baelor. Sansa pulled a long, thin sword. A blade Alayne remembered a girl named Arya carrying. Sansa, still crying, took the blade and stuck it in Alayne’s chest.  _

Alayne woke with a jolt. Sweetrobin grabbed her hand as the carriage lurched once more, disturbing the young boy from his sleep as well. He looked startled. He looked at Alayne for a long time. 

       “Alayne,” He said softly. “The princess we are to rescue, is she pretty? Does she look like mother, and aunt Cat?”  _ Like me. _ Alayne adds silently. Alayne did not want to tell the boy the truth, that it was a girl she barely remembered, that she had not seen her since they were both children. She smiles and squeezes his hand. 

       “No, my Sweetrobyn, she does not look like your mother. She is Northern, you see. She is solemn as the Godswood. But she is also beautiful, and wilful.” There is a sort of grief in her voice that she cannot contain. 

        “I am sure the princess will be very grateful for her valiant cousin coming to her aid.” Littlefinger adds, his trademark half-smile on his face. His eyes bore into Alayne’s.  _ And to her sister as well. _ He seems to think. Alayne knows it was Petyr, not Robert Arryn she should voice her thanks to, it was he who convinced the Lords of the Vale.  _ I will thank him when my sister is in my arms, when we are home.  _ She thinks.  _ No sooner. _

* * *

 

_ Jon Snow:  _

   Jon Snow faced Ramsay Snow across the fields. The Bastard of Bolton had a horrible expression on his face, and looked directly to the girl riding next to Jon. 

      “I want my bride back. Give her back to me and I will grant you more mercy than I showed the Baratheon men.” He sneered. Jon’s face hardened. 

       “She is no longer yours to torment.” A pause. “There is no need for so many men to die. Why don't we settle this the old way, just you and me? It is your only chance, if you refuse we will march, and you will fall.” Ramsay sneered. 

       “You think me a fool, bastard? You have more skill with a blade, of course, but I have the greater army.” Jon did not flinch. 

       “Why should your men fight for you, when you will not fight for them?” He asks solemnly. “Very well. Defeat on the field is your choice then. Come, sister.” And they ride away.

Jon is playing a general now. He is not Robb, nor their Father. Arya, of course, the clever girl she is, had the plan. It amazed him what a brilliant strategist she was. He felt a guilty sort of grateful Stannis had fallen, that he did not have her in his clutches, to give her away again. Jon sighed deeply. Battle was coming. 

* * *

 

_ Arya Stark: _

Arya no longer had the thin blade Jon had given her a lifetime ago. It was lost to her, taken by a soldier so long ago.She longed for it, as they marched for battle. Instead she carried a small dagger, and a short sword. Brienne and her faithful squire, Podrick marched beside her, and Arya was grateful for it. She knew Brienne had sacrificed much to be here. Jon was leading the Northern army and Free Folk, of course. Leading suits him, even if he believes it doesn’t. In truth she thought he was as good a general as Robb, perhaps better, if only because he was wiser. At the thought of Robb an old scar on her abdomen twitched, remembering the last time she had seen him, the night Roose Bolton had gotten his filthy hands on her. She shook off the memory, preparing herself for the fight. Jon had demanded she stay at camp, of course, but she told him it was her fight as much as his. She had not practiced since King’s Landing for true, but her old dancing master’s prayer rang through her mind. 

_ Not today. _

* * *

 

_ Jon Snow:  _

    “Arya!” He shouted, surrounded by the dead of both sides, fighting off the snow and the men. “Arya!” He shouted again.  _ Oh gods, if he had lost her…. _ He could not finish the thought. He was pulled out of it as a knight of the Vale killed a Bolton man in front of him. He grimaced, and went back into the fight. He couldn’t truly tell who was winning anymore. He hoped it was his army. The plan was a good one, to attack on two fronts, surrounding the Bolton army. He was surrounded by death and blood. His sword was caked in it as well. Bodies piled around him. 

He found his sister. She was holding a knife to Ramsay Bolton’s  neck. The Bolton Bastard was bloodied and beaten almost to death, but he paid little mind to it. His sister was crying. She too was covered in the battle, blood and grime covered her, her tears streaking through the dirt on her face. He ran to her, fighting and killing any man in his way. 

      “I did it, didn’t I?” He heard Ramsay croak. “I finally made you cry.  _ I win. _ ” H saw Arya press the knife deeper into his neck.

      “Arya!” He called to her. She looked at him, her grey eyes filled with pain. 

       “ _ Jon.” _ She whispered it, but he knew what she had said. He ran until he was at her side. Arya choked out a sob. “No Ramsay.  _ I  _ win.  _ You  _ will face Northern justice.” 


	5. Arya II

_ Home, we are home.  _

It was strange to walk the halls of Winterfell now. Winterfell was not the way it was when she was a child, of course, after the Ironborm had ravaged it. After the Boltons had taken over. She walked with every grace she could muster, trying to act like Sansa, or even Jon. She was not a prisoner here anymore. But  _ he  _ was. She found a comfort in that. Tomorrow he would die a traitors death, beheading. The same fate her own father had met. She looked out at the walls of Winterfell, where now held the banners of the Stark direwolves once more. It did not ease the pain she still felt, the overwhelming grief. 

      “It’s strange to be home, isn’t it?” She turned to face Sansa. 

      “It is. The last time we were here together you were ready to marry the prince and have his babies, as I recall.” Sansa scoffed at that. “I hear you killed him, did you?” Sansa smiled a small smile. 

      “No, but i wish I had. He deserved it.” Arya nodded. 

      “Me too. Him and Cersei, they were always at the top of my list.” She said distantly, it seemed like so long since she had traveled the Kingsroad, whispering the names like a prayer. Sansa’s face looked confused. 

      “Your list?” She asked. 

       “Of people I’m going to kill.” She answered. There was a moment of silence before both girls started laughing. Arya embraced her sister. “I missed you.” She says quietly. 

       “I missed you too Arya.” Sansa pulled away slightly. “Arya there were….rumors. The Wedding, at the Twins….they say you were there.” Her voice is delicate, her Tully eyes concerned. Arya looked away, unable to properly respond. “Oh Arya.” Sansa cried, pulling her sister into another embrace.

 

* * *

 

The great hall of Winterfell was full. The Northern lords who fought for Winterfell were all gathered, the Free Folk that had survived, and even little Robyn Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, her cousin and his men all looked up at the Starks. Lyanna Mormont stood. 

       “His name may be Snow, but Ned Stark’s blood runs through his veins! He is the only king I need, the King in the North.” Another lord stood up. 

       “Aye! Jon Snow avenged the Red Wedding! Fuck the Southron Kings and Queens! The King in the North!” Now Arya stood. 

       “Aye! The King in the North, Jon Snow!” And soon the entire hall was filled with the chanting of the men shouting “King in the North” Jon himself stood and it quieted. 

       “I am only a baseborn son,” He began. “How can I accept this when I have two sisters who would come before me?” He looked at Arya, almost pleading. She knew he did not want this. 

      “You are a son of Ned Stark.” She stated. “And our own brother, Robb Stark, the Young Wolf wanted you to lead the North.” . 

      “Aye. I will accept this honor, if you will really have me as your king.” His face was as solemn as stone. The crowd cheered, chanting once again. Arya looked back at her sister, who had stayed stoic despite the atmosphere of he room. 

      “Are you angry?” She asked after a moment of silence. Sansa looked at her, a flash of emotion in her eyes. 

      “No. No I am not angry.” But her voice held hurt in it. Arya looked at her sister, whose  hair was still dark, and who had aged so much since she had last seen her. She grabbed her hand. 

      “We are not children anymore Sansa. We must stick together, Winter is Coming.” Sansa squeezed her hand. 

      “Father always promised didn't he?” Arya smiled weakly. 

 

She found him in the crypts well into the darkness of the night.

        “It doesn’t look like him.” She says softly, looking up at the stone carving of their father. Jon looked at her, not surprised she was there.

       “No, I suppose not. They did get the expression right, didn’t they? He was always so somber.”  _ So are you.  _ She thinks.

        “He fought two wars before I was born. I suppose that takes a toll.” Jon nodded in agreement.

        “Arya I did not ask to be King. It was never my place, it was always Robb who would be Lord of a Castle, it should have been his victory, not mine.” His voice was anguished. 

       “Father said the same thing.” She replied. “He said it was meant to be Brandon who was Lord of a Castle and father to queens. Father was only a second son, don't you remember? He did it, didn't he? You can too. I can think of no one I would rather follow than you. I trust you more than anyone. Even when I was here, about to be wed to Ramsay I knew you would come for me. I always knew.” She looked him in the eye, his hands on her face. Her stomach fluttered just a little bit, though she didn't know why. His eyes held such sorrow. The scars on his face glinting. 

        “I died for you.” He says. “I was to break my vows to find you and the men of the Watch took knives to me. But I never questioned that decision. Because I love you. I would take a thousand knives to the heart just to keep you safe, do you understand? And if you think I should be king, then I must be king. I only hope I don't disappoint you.” 

       “Don’t be stupid, Jon. You could never disappoint me.” He pressed his forehead against hers and for a second she believed he might kiss her, but he just pulled her into a tight embrace. 

 

It was cold, but Arya paid it no mind. She looked at the man before her, kneeling, his head on a block. She wanted to make him suffer every injury he bore upon her. She watched his eyes, the fear glinting in them. She heard Jon but her eyes did not leave Ramsay. 

        “I, Jon Snow, King in the North hereby sentence you to die for the crime of treason. Have you any final words?” 

Ramsay kept looking at Arya. 

         “I'll still be here you know. Oh a piece of me will live in you forever, eating you away.” And then his head was rolling at her feet. She didn't flinch. But she didn't feel better either. He was dead. He was gone. But she still felt the pain he had caused. When he had strangled her, when he had starved her. The time when her moon blood came and he punished her. She not cried then. She had not even cried on her wedding night. But the tears came now, as they had come on the battlefield. _He was right,_ she thought,  _he did win in the end._  None of it went away, it was there, a part of her forever. She fled, tears in her eyes. 

 


	6. Jon II

He found her in her chambers, lying on her featherbed trying to stop crying.  She tried to be strong, yes, but she was still a young girl. Jon clenched his fists, wishing he could have flayed Ramsay alive for the pain he caused Arya. He did not say anything to her, he simply laid next to her and pulled her into his arms, letting her fall asleep against him. He had slept next to her every night since she had come back. When she awoke screaming he would hold her until she calmed. When his nightmares came he awoke silently, the scars burning his skin and he held her even closer, a way to comfort himself. 

_ She is so peaceful, so content now.  _ Jon thinks as he watches her sleep.  _ It is hard to believe she is hurting so much.  _ He leaned down to kiss her forehead.  _ I love her. How is it that I love her so much? I have been searching for home everywhere, but home is wherever she and I are together.  _

* * *

 

Jon does not sleep the way he used to, he feels barely human most times, rarely eating, barely sleeping. Even now, he is home and he feels unfulfilled. He wanders through the halls of Winterfell as the moon shines above him, the winter winds blowing. He does not fully register the cold, it passes through him lightly. In the moonlight he spies a figure and he stops, his heart freezing over.

There in the moonlight was a pale and beautiful woman, cloaked in red. Melisandre looked at Jon, her eyes seeming to stare into his soul. She was the reason he was alive now. She had whispered to him of prophecies and he had tried to send her away. Arya had wanted to kill her, something about a friend of hers. Davos had wanted her away from Shireen. Neither had gotten what they asked for, as the priestess had fled the Wall in the night, taking the Baratheon princess with her. In truth, Jon had not thought of her much sense. Now he felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of dread. She started towards him and he wished he had brought Longclaw on his walk. In what seemed like both moments and years she had reached him. 

    “Where is the princess?” He had found his voice finally. She looked at him intensely. 

    “With the prince.” Her voice was grave. Jon grew angry. 

    “Damn you and your riddles!” He turned to walk away but she grabbed his arm. 

    “The flames are singing of you Jon Snow. The flames are singing a song of ice. Of fire. Of the War for the Dawn.” He shrugged her hand off and walked away. 

In the morning there was no sign she had ever been there. He searched all of Winterfell, but no one had seen any sign of the Red Woman.  _ The War for the Dawn. _ It was coming once more, he knew it. He had  _ seen  _ it. He had let himself become distracted, by his sister, by Winterfell. He felt no regrets for it. He had told Arya he would have made the same choices all over again. In truth he could never imagine a world where anything was more important than her. He saw her training with Brienne of Tarth and his heart warmed at it, reminding him of when they were children. He noticed some of the Wildling’s watching and laughing. They liked her, his little sister. Val had laughed at some of the stories, had even compared her to Ygritte, a comparison Jon himself had made long ago. He walked past the training yard, his heart warmed. He had work to do; war was coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update guys! Quick chapter as things start to unravel. Next chapter is Sansa.


	7. Sansa I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update guys! This chapter is a little sneak peek of Sansa/Tyrion, plus some good ol' Sisterly bonding! Hope you like <3

       Sansa had finally washed all of the black out of her hair. She was glad beyond words to see herself in the mirror once more. Alayne Stone was gone. She was relieved to be home of course. Yet it was disconcerting as well. The Northmen barely looked at her, whispered behind her back,  _ Lady Lannister  _ they called her. 

        They had rallied for Arya. All of the North had rallied to save a girl of four-and-ten, because she was a  _ Stark _ and they named a bastard as King because Arya had asked. A part of Sansa had died in the South, but in her heart she was a Stark, she had always been a Stark. She knew politics, knew how to play the game and yet it was her wild sister the men followed, the one they called Lady Stark. She had even heard her called her the Queen in the North by Alys Karstark. The North loved Arya, though Sansa had rallied the Vale for her, the North followed Arya simply because she was a Stark. Sansa sighed, she loved her sister and was glad she was safe, but part of her was envious of the support given to her. Nobody had come for her in King’s Landing. Nobody but Littlefinger and Tyrion Lannister had even treated her kindly. 

         To add to her discomfort there was Jon. He let Sansa sit in council meetings, but he had a wary look for her. He didn't trust her, of course. He was afraid she would share secrets with Lord Baelish. Though he was king, he and Arya seemed to share equal power in council meetings. Often they even shared a chamber. Sansa had  _ tried  _ to tell them it was improper but Arya had been so adamant in her reply. 

       “He keeps the nightmares away.” She had said it so plainly, stating it as nothing but fact. It  _ was  _ improper of course, and while the lords of the Vale whispered about it, the people of the North simply accepted it. They loved their lady. They loved their King. Sansa found herself missing her Lord Husband in these quiet moments alone. Tyrion had been kind to her, and it may be cruel of her to think it, but she felt he trusted her more than her own blood. 

_ I am still a fool then.  _ She thinks. The door opens slowly and Sansa quickly turns, expecting to reprimand a servant. Instead she sees her sister. Arya says nothing and closes the door behind her. Sansa stands and smiles politely. 

“I am sorry for bothering you at such a late hour, I truly am. But Jon awoke during the night and is wandering about and...I could not sleep.” Her grey eyes still hold the same fiery glint Arya had as a child, though there was a sort of pleading in her eyes now. 

    “You are my sister, Arya. You are welcome here at any hour.” She replied courteously. Arya smiled gratefully. “Please,” She implored. “Tell me what troubles your sleep.” Arya wrinkled her nose like she had when she was a child. She was silent, as if debating within herself what she should say. 

    “It’s Jon.” She says finally and Sansa is puzzled.  _ Jon? Who loves her more than anything, who won back Winterfell for her, who wears a crown he has no right to simply because she asks? _ Arya senses her sister’s confusion. “He hasn’t done anything!” She says quickly. “It’s not  _ Jon  _ exactly I’m worried about.” 

     “Then what is it?” Sansa asks softly. Arya swallows hard. 

     “I fear I have doomed him. I have dreams about his death, he died for me and he would do it again and I am so worried he will leave me. I have lost my pack so many times, but I simply could not bear even existing knowing I brought his end.” When she spoke Sansa was harshly reminded that her sister was still a child who hadn’t seen more than three-and-ten namedays. Blue eyes met grey ones and Sansa stood to embrace her sister. 

     “Do not be foolish Arya! Jon is not going anywhere without you. We are family no matter what and we will stay together. We will endure, we always have.” Sansa spoke as if this were fact. “And….furthermore, I want to apologise to you. I was a foolish little bird then.” She said this hesitantly. 

     “Aye, you were.” Arya smiled. “We were all just children then.” Sansa embraced her sister once more. 

     “Come on then, you may sleep in my bed tonight, if you let me sew you a pretty dress.” Arya grimaced, but it was not true anger. 

      “As long as it doesn’t have acorns on it.” 

* * *

 

      The air held a chill in it that Sansa had forgotten. The Vale had snow in it, yes, but not like Winterfell. Not true snow. As she walked through the courtyard she could see a woman in furs with blonde hair watching a toddler play in the snow. She smiled at the sight and her heart ached for what might have been once more. She had always imagined having beautiful babies with golden hair and Tully eyes, their father kind and just. At times she imagined what it could be to wed Harry the Heir, but she held him in little respect. He had tried to suggest it, once, on the trip North once her identity had been revealed and she had rejected him.

_      “Do you not follow the Seven?” She asked coldly.  _

_       “Y-yes, my lady.” He stammered. Her eyes narrowed.  _

_       “How is it then you ask me to forsake my Lord Husband, when no Septon has set aside this marriage?” He had looked bashful at that, his ears turning red.  _

     “Princess Sansa!” A voice cried. “The gate.” Her eyes widened in hope and she forgot her armor and ran to the gate, a prayer in her heart it was Bran or Rickon. The gates of Winterfell opened and she found herself looking at a man who looked haggard, his hair dirty and an unkempt beard. He looked more a vagabond than a knight, but she would have recognized those emerald eyes anywhere. After all the were the same eyes of the cruel woman in King’s Landing. She knew this man. 

_ Jaime Lannister. _

 


	8. Arya III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter took so long! Writers block hit hard guys!

Arya Stark was the Lady of Winterfell, a title she had never wanted. In truth, many of her bannermen had wanted to name her queen, but it was Jon that Robb had named his heir, so she endorsed him. She  _ believed  _ Jon would be good King, though her heart ached for the King Robb was, and who he could have been. Arya had never thought she would be a lady, she had failed in every aspect a lady was supposed to have. She knew little about ruling and now she was sitting in council having to decide the fate of the Kingslayer. In the North they followed the Old Ways, where every lord sat in council, no one greater than another but the King. The Great Hall was filled with nothing but the shouts of men and women, arguing incessantly the fate of Jaime Lannister. Brienne had spoken highly of him, of his oath to their mother. She had said he was in the Riverlands, with the Brotherhood. He had not yet revealed the intention behind his visit, confined to chambers with a guard posted. 

      “Enough!” Jon’s voice boomed across the stone walls and silence fell at his words. “Must we bicker like children? Have you forgotten that winter is coming? There are more important matters than Jaime Lannister. There is a threat from beyond the wall growing, a threat far greater than any Southron enemy. We must endure.” His voice was stern and Arya was reminded of their father. Their father had been burdened with ruling, same as Arya and Jon now. Jon looked as though he carried the weight of the entire sky resting on his shoulders. He looked down at her, his grey eyes, so like hers, were hooded and not for the first time she saw a darkness in them. And then he smiled at her and it disappeared. He had told her before she was how he managed to survive the council meetings. He turned to face the lords and ladies once more, donning his mask once more.

* * *

 

Arya could not sleep, for was wrought with guilt. In some ways Jon was the same Jon she had always known, yet she remembered Lord Beric, who had been brought back by a red priest and he had not wished that fate on anyone. Jon had died for  _ her _ and Arya remembered Robb’s death, and her mother’s as well. Jon had come back, yes, but he had changed in ways she was loathe to admit. She knew she should stop sharing his bed, that people would talk. It was improper but she couldn’t let him go, and she knew he couldn’t her go either. The moonlight was pouring into her chambers at this hour, illuminating Jon's sleeping form. Arya sighed and donned a cloak so she could walk the halls. She must have looked quite a sight, her hair untidy, wearing only a cloak and her small clothes. 

She walked across the battlements, her thoughts tormented by the harsh memories of her uncle Edmure's wedding. She had few memories she enjoyed from her mothers homeland and yet, since Jaime Lannister had arrived the lands had plagued her thoughts. 

Arya found herself in front of the Kingslayer's door. The guards must have been surprised to see her, but they made no protest when she entered the room. The chamber was a bare one, with only one candle still burning. The Kingslayer was not asleep, though she could see dark circles under his eyes indicating sleep was much needed. He smirked at her anyway. He was more ragged than he had been when she last saw him, his beard had grown out, though he was now much cleaner than he had been when he arrived he still had a grime to him, from traveling she knew. 

       "And to what do I owe this pleasure, my lady? Have you come to warm my bed, She-Wolf?" He drawled out. To his surprise she smiled. 

        "I am sure you are ill-suited to the cold, Ser, but I have not come for that." She replied. His green eyes sparkled in the candlelight. 

       "Then why have you come, Princess?" She chewed her lip nervously. 

       "I...I want to go back. I want to reclaim the Riverlands."


	9. Sansa II

          Sansa Stark loved nice things, she had always loved nice things. She longed for the long summer, when she had her parents still, when she was surrounded by silk and poetry. Now her duties largely consisted of knitting and sewing warm clothing for the winter, though Jon had conceded to allow a small feast for The Lords of the Vale. They were preparing to return to the Eyrie, though they were to leave a fair amount of men behind to prove their loyalty to the North. Maester Wolkan had been unsure if Robyn could survive the trip back right now. Robyn had begun training with Brienne of Tarth, along with Arya and Podrick Payne, and it seemed to be doing some good. Sansa would not let herself admit why his health had improved, could not think about the sweetsleep she no longer insisted upon him. Robyn had decided he wanted to stay in Winterfell, to train. Arya had laughed and implied he wanted to stay because he fancied the youngest Mormont girl. Sansa was hoping he would leave, and take Littlefinger with him. Jon could not trust Sansa as long as he lingered here. Sansa wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, that she was desperate for Jon’s approval now, when she had denied it to him as children. Jon was a Stark now, according to Robb’s will Jon was more of a Stark than her. That fact was one she was never allowed to forget. Alys Karstark, while adoring Arya, rarely spoke two words to Sansa and Lord Glover always referred to her as ‘Lady Lannister’. She was in her home for the first time in years and she felt like an outsider. She felt apart from the North and she supposed it was proper punishment for her. She had always wanted to go South, and she had betrayed her family. As much as this hurt her she knew she was only reaping what she had sown.

* * *

 

           Jaime Lannister had knelt to Jon, had pledged himself to House Stark. Jaime received similar treatment to Sansa, a cold attitude. He did not seem to mind it though. He spent his time making japes at Brienne or conspiring with Arya. It seemed the kingslayer had indeed changed during his time in the Riverlands. Sansa wondered how enraged his sister must have been, when he refused to return as her champion. A smile tugged at her lips at that, Cersei had nobody on her side anymore. News had reached them, Kevan Lannister was dead. Mace Tyrell effectively had the kingdom in his hands now. Mace Tyrell could be manipulated of course, and it was possible to get him to agree to trade with them. Sansa recalled a time when she had hoped to be married to his son, before she had been forced to wed Lord Tyrion. She had been so hopeful then, the idea of Highgarden so alluring. Sansa pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, ready to prepare for the feast. 

          Sansa had made a dress for herself, and one for her sister. Arya had not even argued about the dress. Sansa was glad Arya did not fight with her so much anymore. Sansa had braided her hair in a distinctly Northern fashion, had stitched a dress that was the color of winter roses, with wolves stitched on the bodice. She had to present herself as a true Stark, a statement that her little sister had laughed at. 

       “Sansa you’re as much a Stark as me and Jon, don’t be foolish.” Arya said lightly. 

      “They call me Lady Lannister. They look at me with mistrustful eyes, I am not being foolish.” She replied, frowning. “Arya hold still let me finish with your hair.” Braiding her sister’s hair was proving more difficult than a toddler. “There,” She said, proudly, “Now you look like a proper lady.” And she truly did. Arya’s hair was pulled back, a braid circling her head, the rest of her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s not be late.” 

       “Oh it’s our feast, no one will mind.” Arya japed. Sansa rolled her eyes and escorted her sister to the Great Hall. Many eyes were on them, which did not surprise Sansa, she knew she was beautiful. She spied Harrold Harrdying eyeing her intensely and blushed. She noticed her sister blushing as well. She saw Pod smiling shyly at Arya and almost laughed. 

_ Pod is a sweet boy,  _ she thought as she found her seat at the high table _ , he could make her happy.  _

Sansa pretended not to notice her brother’s eyes staring hungrily at their sister. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing dialogue, if you couldn't tell, so this is a formal apology for the shitty dialogue.


	10. Jon III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has some mild smut so if that grosses you out don't read. Also, yay two chapters in one day!

       Jon stared at her as she entered, in her beautiful grey and white dress. She looked astonishing and he could not bring himself to look away. Jon had only agreed to the feast reluctantly, Sansa had spent so long arguing for one he had finally conceded. He was starting to regret that choice though, as he watched his little sister dance with a squire. He felt an anger rise in him, though he didn’t know why. She was almost a woman grown, she could dance with whomever she pleased. In fact, she seemed jovial and in high spirits. Yet his mood remained foul, despite the dancing and music. Everyone around seemed to be enjoying themselves, he even saw Davos laughing with Tormund and some of the Wildlings. He drank his wine sullenly. Arya came up to him, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling. 

       “Dance with me,” She spoke breathlessly, pulling on his hand, his heart jumping at her touch. “Come Jon, you cannot sit here brooding all night.” He snatched his hand away. 

       “I’m not brooding.” He lied. His voice was brisk, his words sounding crueler than he meant. 

       “Are you angry with me?” She asked, confused. “Jon what is it?” He looked at her, worry etched into her face. 

       “Shouldn’t you be dancing with that  _ squire  _ or whispering with the kingslayer?” He could not fight this jealousy that was consuming him. Arya looked angry. She stood up. 

       “Fine. Mayhaps I’ll go find a handsome young lord to dance with! One who is not so sullen!” And she left him.  _ Follow her _ said a voice in his head. He stood quickly, and grabbed her. The music was light and as they danced, she continued to glare at him. 

     “I’m sorry.” He says softly. 

     “Why were you cross with me?” She demanded. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to say,  _ You know exactly why _ . But he didn’t. 

     “I am just tired little sister. Winter is here and there is much to be done.” She raised her brows at that, not fully believing him. They danced in silence and when the song ended he returned to his table, to his wine, still fighting the dark feeling in his chest. Arya did not dance with anyone else after that. She spent the remainder of the feast with Brienne, a queer expression on her face. When the feast finally ended he excused himself to his own chambers and undressed. As he lay on his bed he felt the anger in his heart grow, the jealousy that he wanted to deny. Arya might be cross that he was not there for her tonight, but he could not tempt himself tonight.  _ I have had too much wine is all,  _ he thought. But as he drifted off to sleep, another thought persisted in his head, and it was one far less noble. 

* * *

 

_       Their lips met softly at first, their bodies close together as though they were trying to meld into one person. He deepened the kiss hungrily, possessively. He loved her so much, he had to be with her, had to be inside of her, so they could truly be one. She was his. _

_         "Jon," She moaned. "My Jon." His one arm held her tightly against him as his other found itself slipping his fingers between her slippery folds. _

_         “Oh gods,” he moaned, his cock hard, pressing into her side. “I love you so much Arya….”  _

Jon awoke in a sweat. He panted heavily. 

_       ‘It was just a dream.’  _ He thought, relieved. But his cock was still hard, the kiss from the dream still in his mind.  _ ‘ _

_ I'm sick. I'm no better than Cersei Lannister.’ _ He knew it was wrong, of course, and he wanted to feel disgusted with himself. Yet he didn't. All he felt was a longing for the girl in his dream. To hold her in his arms once more. He knew he shouldn't, she was his  _ sister.  _ But she was also so much more, he realized. She completed him, it was like they were two halves of a whole. They were one and the same. His cock twitched, still hard and aching in his breeches. Aching for Arya, to slide inside her wetness and cause her to cry out his name.  _ His  _ name, not some squire. The thought of her crying his name was playing in his mind as he took himself in hand. He stroked himself furiously, the thought of her moans spurring him on. He spilled his seed into his hand, groaning out her name as he came. All at once his actions set in.

Jon held no dislike for Podrick in truth. He was a good lad, albeit not a good squire. His heart warmed watching her laugh at him while training. And yet, there was a tightness in his stomach when he watched it as well. He hated the way the boy looked at her, his eyes filled with adoration and love. There was a fire in him, ever since the Red Woman had brought him back.  _ No, that's a lie. It was always there, for her, always burning.  _ And that was the sick truth of it, he had always loved Arya more than anything. Their bond had always been deeper than typical brother and sister. He remembered the rage he had felt at Ramsay Bolton. The jealousy he had felt earlier tonight. He realizes, with agony, he was in love with her. 

 


	11. Jaime I

           Arya Stark was a force of nature. He had only known her briefly during her time at Kings Landing, and had paid little attention to her. After Catelyn had released him he had given the younger girl little thought, thinking her to be dead, how could a highborn child survive the Kingsroad. He had been distracted, by his oath, by Brienne. The Lady Knight seemed to have a certain enjoyment at Winterfell. He watched her from his window of his room, nice chambers, to be sure, but a gilded cage is still a cage. He had watched her on the courtyard training with Podrick and what appeared to be a skinny little boy, but Jaime knew to be the Lady of the castle. Jaime enjoyed watching Brienne training, though he felt an itch, a desire to be on the field with her.

       He _missed_  Brienne, he had come to realize. The only times he saw her was when she escorted Arya to his chambers. He even found himself missing the days when they traveled the Riverlands, until she had left. He had told her to, of course, deciding to stay with the Brotherhood. It was because of the Brotherhood that Brienne knew to go North for Arya. There was a boy among them, one of Robert’s bastards he knew, who had traveled with the girl. It was in Harrenhal that they’d caught her, Jaime’s father in fact had found the girl. When news of the wedding came Brienne wasted no time heading to Winterfell. He should have gone with her then, but he was afraid, as foolish as that was. Afraid of his guilt. It was here that he had crippled a young boy. But it was here that he had come once more. Thoros of Myr had seen in his fires, the same thing that Jon Snow now warned his men against. Jaime had known then his place was beside Brienne, if he was to fall in battle, it would be fighting at her side. Of course he had not told the Stark girl most of this. She had told him she wished to reclaim the Riverlands, sure that they would follow her for her Tully heritage. She wished to send a small group of men to aid the Blackfish at Riverrun. She had only one issue; Petyr Baelish. Jaime understood this, the man was not to be trusted, and unfortunately the elder Stark girl was rarely away from him.

        “Kingslayer!” He grimaced, disappointed that he had been caught off guard. He turned to face the girl. She _was_ a pretty thing, despite how terribly thin she was. She was a spitting image of Lyanna Stark. She wore long sleeved tunics and high necked dresses generally, but today her neck was visible, showing scars, still red and healing, causing a surge of guilt in Jaime. His own father had sold her to the man who did this to her. She had a stern look on her face and for once she was alone.

       “Yes, my lady.” He replied dryly. She slapped a piece of parchment on his table.

       “We received a raven today. From the Dragon Queen’s Hand. Your brother.”  Jaime tried to conceal his shock.

       “And that’s my fault?” She furrowed her brows at him.

      “Read it.” He scanned the letter, recognizing his brother’s writing instantly.

_Queen Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name invites you to Dragonstone. My queen commands the combined forces of Dorne and the Reach, an Ironborn fleet, legions of Unsullied, a Dothraki horde and three dragons. The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny. I appeal to you, one bastard to another — for all dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes._

_Tyrion Lannister Hand of the Queen_

       “The last I heard my dear sister was standing trial for crimes against the crown.” His heart was beating quicker now, memories flashing in his mind. _‘Burn them all’_ Echoing.

       “Apparently she won her trial by combat. Her…. _champion_ ,” She said the word distastefully. “Also murdered the High Septon. Tore him apart actually. That’s not the point. Do you really believe the Targaryen girl wants an alliance?” Her eyes glinted like steel.

       “Of course not. Only a fool would think that. She is here to conquer, and well, was Aegon the Conqueror content with only Six Kingdoms?” He saw in her face he had confirmed her own thoughts.

       “The council agrees with you, but the King does not.He is insistent we need her dragons and the dragon glass at her castle. Jon is too trusting, he would go there and it would mean his death, I can feel it.” Her voice was full of emotion. “The King in the North should stay _in_ the North.”

       “What exactly did you come here for?” He asked, but he knew the answer. He knew why she was alone, why she had come to him instead of her brother, or Brienne. 

       “Pack your bags. We leave after dark.”

 


	12. Tyrion I

        He wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting. The raven he has received was vague and nondescript. He most certainly was not expecting his brother to arrive with the Stark girl. Jaime was different than he remembered. His hair was longer, he had a beard. He was thinner as well, but it was Jaime nonetheless, his eyes still glittering green, even the same ghastly golden hand. He walked close to the girl, and Tyrion noticed it was just them. The queen had been quite offended since the raven came from the Stark girl. She had expected the King in the North to come himself. Given the Stark family’s experiences in the South, Tyrion mused it wasn’t too surprising Jon Snow wouldn’t come himself, but what he found odd was that he sent his precious little sister. 

      “I must admit I had not expected to see you Jaime.”  _ Away from Cersei. _ He added in his head. 

      “I had an oath to fulfill to Catelyn Stark.” He was brisk, his eyes were not as bright and jovial as they once were. 

      “Ah and you stayed on because the Starks are such a lively bunch.” He said, recognizing the surly expression Arya Stark wore as one seen on her father. Jaime stopped and grabbed Tyrion’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. 

      “Make no mistake I am only here for the Stark girl. If she had not demanded it of me I would  _ never  _ set foot in a room with a Targaryen ever again. Much less without a weapon.” His voice was filled with fear and hate, his eyes burning, reminding Tyrion of how he had earned his nickname of Kingslayer. They walked to the throne room in silence after that, with glances between Jaime and Arya Stark that Tyrion could not read. 

_ They seem to know each other quite well.  _ He thought dryly.  _ Never thought my brother would leave Cersei’s cunt.  _

The queen sat regally in her throne, in her black and silver, her braids framing her face. Her expression was unreadable as always, but he could see her brows knit together as the two visitors did not kneel. Missandei introduced her, with her many titles. Jaime smirked at his traveling companion. 

     “Ah, this is Princess Arya Stark, Lady of Winterfell, sister to the King in the North, the She-Wolf, Ghost of Harrenhall.” Tyrion suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his foolish brother. 

    “My lady. I assume you are here to bend the knee.” Dany said, her voice strong. 

    “You assume wrong then.” Arya said with a snort. Dany grimaced at that. 

    “Our two families have had their differences recently, but we are not our fathers. The last King in the North, Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon I And there were centuries of peace. Why not uphold the alliance between Stark and Targaryen?” 

    “You’re mistaken, my lady,” Arya began, obvious disdain in her voice.  _ Oh boy. _ He thought. “The last king in the North was my brother, Robb Stark. Furthermore I do not believe subjugation under dragon fire should be considered an alliance. Especially when the way I see it you have no claim to the throne but the name of a father who lost it.” 

Dany turned her head to look at Tyrion. 

    “I asked you to send for the King and instead he sends a little girl who insults me in my home and questions my heritage.” 

    “I do not question your heritage, but the North will have no care in who rules the damned Iron Throne, we are our own independent nation. Take the blasted thing if you wish it. Conquer the whole South, but you will leave the North alone.” The girl’s voice was strong, he almost forgot what a young, scrawny thing she was. 

    “Is that why you have come here? To refuse me? Surely a letter would have sufficed.” Dany replied haughtily. Arya chewed her lip. 

    “Actually we have come to ask you for the dragon glass under the castle.” 

    “You insult me and refuse to bend the knee and then ask for my aid? Whatever do you need dragon glass for?” Jaime stepped forward.  _ No you fool.  _

    “For an enemy greater than any faced before. The others are coming. Dragon glass and fire destroy wights.” Tyrion was flabbergasted.

    “And who are you, ser?” 

    “This is Ser Jaime Lannister, my protector and friend.” Dany’s face grew cold. She stood. 

    “You bring me the man who betrayed and murdered my father and have him blather about make believe creatures?!” Her Unsullied soldiers reached for their weapons, taking a stance. 

    “With all due respect dragons were thought to be extinct until you hatched three yourself. To call creatures of my lands make believe is a bit hypocritical. Ser Jaime is here at  _ my  _ command, he is my sworn shield and I will accept no slight against him.” The girl, despite her small stature and having no weapons, made a move in front of Jaime protectively. 

    “Ah there will be no need for that Princess,” Tyrion announced, attempting to break the tension. “I am sure you are quite tired from your journey. Missandei and Grey Worm will show you to your rooms. We can discuss more after you are rested.” He spoke to the girl and his brother, but his eyes were on his queens, begging her to allow it, to not lose her temper. 

She conceded. 

Arya bowed. 

    “Thank you, Your Grace,” She nodded at Tyrion. “Lord Hand.” 

They followed Missandei and Grey Worm out of the throne room, Jaime avoiding his brothers eyes. Daenerys stood as soon as they left, her posture stiff in anger. 

    “A word, Lord Tyrion?” Phrased as a question, but he knew it was a demand. He walked in front of the throne to kneel. 

    “My queen.” 

    “You told me you knew this Jon Snow, bastard son, that he’d come himself. Instead he sends a petulant child! Who tells outlandish stories! What do you know of this girl?” He knew she was dangerously close to losing her temper. 

    “I must confess I know very little of her. She was a child when I saw her at Winterfell, a wild thing. She was very beloved to her father, he indulged her far more than my sister cared for. Little was known of her during the war. She was found at the wedding of her uncle Edmure Tully to Roslin Frey,”  _ The Red Wedding they called it. _ He left those words unsaid, but recalled when he had informed his poor wife of the news. “And was later married to a Bolton. I do not know the details beyond that.” The Silver Queen descended the stairs, her back straight, her violet eyes unwavering. 

    “You  _ will  _ get her to bend the knee. Or she will face my dragons.” 


	13. Arya IV

> Arya had not quite known what to expect meeting the Mother of Dragons, and she knew she had let her temper escape her. She looked around her chambers in Dragonstone, supposing she should be grateful for a proper bed for herself, not having to share. A small part of her missed the company of Jaime. He was, surprisingly enough, a good friend. She had been in his company for almost three moons and the silence was deafening. She sighed and fell onto the bed.

* * *

  
_The castle was asleep, the snow shimmering in the moonlight. She had not been able to take more than one horse without arousing suspicion, but it was faster with only one anyway. Arya had secured passage on a ship leaving White Harbor in two days time, so time was of the essence. Jaime had been uncharacteristically quiet as they left the castle, which was a relief at least as it aided in their escape. Arya could no longer pass as a boy, but in simple clothes she looked like a peasant. Arya felt a tad guilty as she bribed the guards to let them pass, sorry for Jon when awoke and found her gone. She had left a note for the council meeting, by then no one could chase after them. The lords would be more understanding than Jon. He would be furious with her. Though he had only spoken to her at council meetings and had been avoiding her, so perhaps he will be glad to be rid of her. She chewed her lip at the thought, still hurt by his rejection these past few days. He had gotten so cross with her at the feast and would not tell her why. Her heart ached for him, as stupid as he could be._

* * *

  
After her outburst yesterday, Arya was not surprised Daenerys had sent the Imp to meet with her. She knew he had a skill with words and that he most likely hoped to convince her to bend the knee. Even his invitation had been diplomatic, sending a young servant to help her dress and deliver the message. Arya had only brought one dress, it was the grey and white dress she had worn to the feast. The night Jon had gotten angry with her. She let the servant braid her hair and followed her to Tyrion’s chamber to break fast.   
“Tell me, what exactly is it you hope to accomplish with this little trip?” Jaime says in his usual mocking tone, only after they are a safe distance from the castle.   
“I am going to tell her the North is independent until its last day and refuse to take part in wars of the South. The true fight is North. I am hoping you can get your brother to convince her to let us mine the dragon glass as well.” She hid the uncertainty in her voice fairly well.   
“Simple then.” He said with a humorless chuckle. They continued in silence after that.   
Tyrion was waiting for her, standing next to a table set with fruits and bread. He stood with his arms by his side and his hands overlapped. He smiled wryly.   
“Lady Stark,” He said, pulling out a chair for her. “Please sit, won’t you?” Arya gave a small courtesy.   
“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.” She sat as gracefully as she was able, trying to recall all of her lessons on how to be a lady. Tyrion smiled at her fondly, almost patronizingly. She knew what he wanted, what he expected. He underestimated her, as Cersei had, as Rose Bolton had. He thought her a silly little girl to be convinced by greater minds. She may be young, but she was not foolish. She had a duty to serve and protect the North and Jon. She would not sacrifice them to anyone. She understood Tyrion better than he understood her, after a long trip on a small ship with his brother while all he knew of her was wrapped in rumor and mystery.

* * *

  
“ _Why did you ask me to come with you?” Jaime asked her, taking a long sip of his wine. They were docked in Lannisport for the night, their next ship left in the morning. It was a welcome respite from the dank and crowded merchant ship._  
“The truth? We are to meet your brother and I wanted to use you for information.” She looked at him curiously trying to gauge his reaction. He chuckled a bit at that.   
“Why are you going at all, I wonder! Surely your brother would be better received.” His green eyes were watching her keenly.   
“Do you know what happens to wolves in the South?” She leaned forward across the table. “Jon is far too much like Father. He would die for honor.” She said darkly.   
“And you wouldn’t?”   
“What good is honor to a dead man? Does honor keep a man safe from losing his head? Or stop a son being murdered in front of his mother? What good is honor then?” She sat back, taking a deep breath, trying not to cry. She looked up at Jaime and he had a knowing look in his eyes.   


* * *

 

“It is a pleasure to visit you, dear brother,” She spoke in a light yet careful tone. “May I call you brother? You are married to my beloved sister after all. That would make us kin.” He grimaced slightly though she couldn’t discern why.   
“I suppose you could call me brother, though you will understand if I don’t call you sister, I haven’t had the best luck with sisters after all.” She almost laughed at that. “I don’t suppose you’d take a walk with me?” He stood and offered his arm.   
They walked across the battlements, looking out at the sea. “Lady Stark,” He began.   
“Did you know I was there?” She cut him off, staring into the ocean, speaking as if in a daze.   
“Pardon?” He asked. “You were where?”  
“I was there when my father died. I saw it. I tried to stop it, tried to run forward. I was stopped by a brother of the Watch. And I was there when my mother and brother died. I was held back by a Frey man, screaming and kicking and begging. I watched my family die you know.” There was a heavy silence.   
“I am truly sorry, my lady.” She snorted at that.   
“Does regret undo awful deeds? Does vengeance bring back murdered men?” She sighed. “You wish to convince me to bend the knee.”   
“I spoke to the queen. She is willing to let you mine the dragonglass and perhaps lend more assistance to your….war….provided that you and the North pledge fealty to her, recognizing her as the true and rightful queen of the seven kingdoms.”   
“And if I don’t?” He didn’t answer. “Ah I see. I suppose she isn’t foolish enough to provoke open war against the entire North. And the South. Come now let’s go find that guard of mine! We have a council meeting to attend.” And with that she turned on her heel and walked away, her skirts blowing in the wind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t want the slight time jump to be too disorientating sooo flashbacks!


	14. Jon IV

_ ‘Arya!’ He called into the mist. He ran, in a panic, he had to find her. ‘Arya!’ He cried again. He ran and ran until he came upon a heart tree. At its feet was his little sister, in a bed of blood. In a moment he was holding her limp in his arms, tears in his eyes. ‘Little one do not leave me here. Please.’ He begged, choking on his words. She did not respond, her eyes staring off into the distance, glazed over. It was then he saw the Kingslayer kneeling by her side, blood covering his hand. Jon wiped the tears from his eyes with rage filling his entire being. He screamed and shoved the Lannister down. ‘You did this! You took her away from me! She was  _ **_mine!_ ** _ ’ His hands wrapped around the other man's neck, feeling the life leave him. Jon draped himself over Arya, wiping the blood from her face. He kissed her cold, dead neck. ‘ _ **_Mine_ ** _.’ He growled.  _

Jon awoke in a cold sweat, panting. He’d had that dream again, dreaming of his Arya. She had been gone for three moons and it had been tearing him apart. When he had first discovered the note she’d left for him he had been in a blind rage. He had reclaimed some of his calm after the day ended, but his temper grew shorter every day she was gone. He went to the rookery persistently, waiting for a raven to confirm her safety. Jon stood, wiping his face to refresh himself. He had tried over these last few weeks to dedicate himself to his people. He was fairly successful, collecting grains to distribute, getting armor made, and even begun to speak with the men about reclaiming  _ all  _ of the lands Robb has conquered under his reign. There was the rage always there though, bubbling below the surface. It was rage and it was love and it was barely contained. He had isolated himself, sending Tormund with a group of wildlings’ to Eastwatch, and sending Ser Davos to meet with Lord Cerwyn who had raised some issue Jon could not recall. Sansa was the only one he spoke to and those interactions were brief and cold.   It was hard to recover a relationship that had never existed and so the distance between he and Sansa grew further. Jon was restless after his dream, it seemed he was always restless now. He quickly dressed and grabbed a cloak to make his way outside. The castle was still asleep; it was hours away from dawn. He made his way in the darkness to the crypts. He carried only a single torch to guide him, though he knew the way. He stopped just past Father, to where the new statue of Robb Stark stood, freshly carved from stone. Jon had overseen the task himself. It was hard to tell on the figure just how young he was. He looked like a proper King of Winter, with a grimace and a longsword to quiet the spirits. Jon stood before his brother who had once been his closest friend and greatest rival. He thought it a cruel twist of fate that Robb should fall and Jon should stand as king in his stead. How Lady Catelyn would seethe to see him no, usurping the place of her trueborn children. Jon sighed and knelt before his brother. 

“I have failed, Stark. I have been plagued by a madness that I cannot overcome. Am I really so depraved? How is it I could breathe without her by my side? How is it I could command without her? We both lost our lives for the sake of a woman, did we not? You put honor above duty when you wed the Southron girl and I put Arya before duty. I love her. In a way I know I shouldn’t. A wildling I knew once asked me if I’d bed my sister. I didn’t answer directly then, but I know the answer now. I know also that if the Dragon Queen harms a single hair on her head I wouldn’t two  _ fucks  _ about the Others! I would let the North fall for a chance of revenge. I have failed you. I am not worthy of being king….. I am not worthy of being a Stark….” Jon held his head in shame then, letting the words echo in the dark silence of the crypts. 

When he finally made his way back to the castle the sun was high in the sky. Winterfell was as bustling as it always was, everyone at work preparing for the winter. He stalked through the grounds, his face as stern and serious as his father’s had been. He had no desire to be here, he should be with Arya. He should be  _ protecting  _ her and instead he was bound by duty separating him from her once more. He found his way to Maester Wolkan remarkably quick, no one bothering to stop him. The Maester was with Sansa. Jon felt a rise of anger in him looking at her. She was so very much like her mother, a haughty attitude and Southron ways. Sansa looked him over disapprovingly. 

“You missed the council meeting.” She said dryly. Jon swallowed back a scowl.

“Yes, well, I’m sure it was very exciting.” He replied. Sansa reached inside her sleeve and pulled out a scroll.

“It was actually. You see Arya has landed at Dragonstone.” Jon felt his breath catch and he eagerly grabbed the scroll. 

_ Dearest Sister, _

_ I am happy to report that I have reunited with your husband. Things are as well as to be expected. The merchant will be arriving soon, I await him eagerly. Unfortunately I have no more news. Give my regards to our brother.  _

_ With Love. _

_ Lady Snow _

It was bare and revealed very little, but Jon felt as if he were soaring then. She was alive and safe and that was all that mattered. He smiled a little at her signature, a clear message to him.

“Why was this not given to me directly?” He then demanded of the Maester. The old man’s eyes went wide and he stuttered. 

“It was addressed to me,” Sansa answered sternly. “And it was discussed at the council meeting with the lords. That you missed.” Her voice was filled with disdain. He scowled and returned his gaze to the Maester.

“Write her back.” He began. 

“It has been handled, Your Grace.” Sansa cut him off. With one more reproachful look she walked away, her head held high, her red hair glistening. Jon felt his face get hot from shame and quickly left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the long update guys!! Last month has been crazy but I am back! Thank you to everyone who read this story and I loved the comments they got me through writing this chapter.


	15. Jaime II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo sorry about the long update! Lots of irl issues!   
> This chapter happens during the same time as the last Arya chapter, but the next one features another brief time skip(just about two weeks flash forward)

        The neutered soldier slave kept staring at him, with a sort of hate in his eyes. Funny, it seemed even slaves from Essos hated him. He supposed it was for killing the Mad King, but in all fairness, it could have been Arya’s outbursts reflecting badly on him. As if he could control the girl. He’d have better luck controlling one of the dragons. He had thought she’d spoken rashly yesterday of course, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t spoken the truth. Jaime was not entirely impressed with the Dragon Queen. She had claimed to be different from her father, but he could see it in her. There was a madness in her, a lust for blood. Jaime managed to still his own tongue, surprisingly, not wishing to inflict any more damage. In the terse silence Jaime found his mind wandering to thoughts of Brienne. He was sure she could handle the duties assigned to her at Winterfell, and yet it was a sort of fear he felt when he thought of her. A dread riding in the back of his head that he might not see her again. Jaime was so entranced in his own mind that he did not even hear the door open. 

       “I must say it’s a surprise to see you serving a Stark, considering your feelings for her father.” A familiar voice called. Jaime raised his eyes, looking at a man he had not expected to see again. 

      “I must say it’s a surprise to see you serving a Targaryen, considering what her father did.” Jaime replied dryly. Ser Barristan took a sharp breath. 

      “She’s not like him.” He said quietly. Jaime shook his head. “We can’t pay for the sins of our fathers.” Jaime chuckled humorlessly. 

       “She’s ready to invade this kingdom with slaves, rapers, and  _ dragons.  _ Tell me, if you see that madness in her, will you stand by once more? Like you did with the Mad King? Let her burn down the whole kingdom like you would have done then.” Jaime spoke in a low voice, memories of Aerys in his mind. 

      “Careful, Ser Jaime, I spoke on your behalf.” Ser Barristan warmed. Jaime looked at him with surprise. “For the killing of her father,” He clarified. “The situation was….necessary for the kingdom.” They stopped walking then, arriving at the council chamber. “But I’d watch your tongue.” And then Jaime followed him inside. 

          Arya stood with the grace of a queen at the table. Arya smiled with an air of courtesy at the entering knights. She was in dressed in a grey and white dress with a high slit to the knee and light grey trousers underneath. She had chosen to adorn it with colorful jewelry they had found at a port on their voyage. She didn’t care much for them, he knew, but she preferred to conceal her scars. Jaime had also reminded her it was important to remind them of her status. He bowed, his eyes on her, showing the rest of the room his allegiances. He looked around. At the table sat a young Dornish woman, undeniably beautiful, adorned in an orange silk dress with her dark curls falling down her back. Jaime surmised the girl to be the Princess Arianne Martell. Next to her was Olenna Tyrell, a surprise indeed, as she was grandmother to the queen. At her side was Ser Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden. He was indeed as pretty as Loras, and Jaime could see the sly glint in his eyes found in his sister and his grandmother. He saw then what had become of the Greyjoy. The boy was sickly thin, his hair white as an old man’s, missing fingers. He had tears in his eyes looking at Arya and Jaime recalled he had saved her life. With him was who he assumed was the boys sister, Asha. He saw Tyrion in the corner of the room, pouring himself a cup of wine, , next to him stood the Dragon Queen herself. Her silver hair cascaded down her shoulders, her expression impassive. Jaime was reminded instantly of her brother Rhaegar.In truth Jaime was called back to the time before the rebellion. He found himself wondering if the girl would face a similar fate to the rest of her family.  Jaime excused himself from the side of Ser Barristan and stood behind Arya. She tilted her head back at him to offer him a sly smile.

* * *

 

The meeting was fairly brief. The queen asked for suggestions for taking Westeros, but Jaime and Arya remained silent through it all, only observing. Jaime was a quite talented military advisor as the son of Tywin Lannister, and he had been greatly humbled by his defeat from Robb Stark. But Arya told him only to observe. They had a plan of course, and it was important they did not stray from it. After the council had finished, Arya excused herself to speak alone with the queen leaving Jaime to do his part. Jaime smiled at Olenna Tyrell, bowing.

        “What surprise to see you here, my lady,” He began. “After all I highly doubt you can expect your granddaughter to be queen if you have bent the knee to Daenerys.” She stood up, clutching her cane. 

        “Your sister has had my granddaughter arrested.” She said “It is no longer a matter of ambition. I’d rather a living granddaughter than a dead queen.” She held her arm for her grandson to grab, turning to leave. Jaime grabbed the younger man. 

        “What if we could help you?” He said softly. Willas looked at him, perplexed. Jaime handed him a scroll. “All my lady asks is you send this raven to Ser Davos Seaworth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is based mostly off of the books, though I did incorporate a few things from the show to simplify things, but as far as I'm concerned the Tyrells, Rickon, Ser Barristan, and Shireen are still alive!


	16. Tyrion II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about the late update, there was a death in the family. This chapter is kindof a 'filler' chapter unfortunately, but next chapter will feature a return to Winterfell so we can focus on Jon and Arya once more.

_ Well fuck _ , he thought. He should have known not to underestimate the girl, of course, wild though she was. She had been far more prepared than he could have predicted. She reminded him of Ned Stark in many ways, but more than that Tyrion was reminded of his own father. It was little over a fortnight since her arrival and today had arrived a retinue of men that had set to mining dragon glass. He was not surprised by the arrival of the men, merely astounded by how quickly they arrived, given that Daenerys had only conceded to allowing mining two days prior and all ravens sent by the Stark girl were monitored. Though Tyrion highly suspected the Tyrells had something to do with it. The queen of thorns had retired back to Highgarden and left her eldest grandson, Willas, behind. Willas was often seen with Arya, in a manner similar to courting. One assumed at first it was an unmarried Lord seeking a lady of a great house, yet no formal request was ever made. Tyrion looked across the council table at the heir to Highgarden. Willas looked over at Arya, whose face was impassive at the news. She received an approving nod from the queen and left to greet her men, only stopping to whisper something in Willas’ ear. 

“The way you flirt is shameful.” Tyrion said dryly. Willas ignored him. 

Tyrion noticed though that the girl had a certain charm about her, she inspired loyalty. The Starks were known for inspiring unwavering loyalty, but men willing to die for a mere girl was surprising. 

“Are we going to take Kings Landing?,” Willas began. “As we have captured Casterly Rock and Storms End we have the West and the South. A full frontal siege on the capital puts millions at risk.”

“What else would you propose?” Daenerys asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “I don’t expect Cersei Lannister to just hand it over.” 

“Something Lady Stark said to me prompted an idea. Years ago she escaped Kings Landing unnoticed through secret corridors and passageways under the castle. If we used a smuggler to get a small group in, they could spend time in the castle and give us the best routes for a sneak attack in the night, and allow them to avoid deaths of any innocents.” He spoke proudly, producing parchment laying out his detailed plans, including a map of the tunnel systems. Daenerys looked impressed. 

“A plan like this could take a long time.” She said doubtfully. 

“Yes, you’re right, but it would also offer a peaceful transfer of power.” Tyrion agreed. “Something I’m sure would be easiest for the common people. With winter arrived it will be difficult enough for them.” 

“Very well. We will discuss this further after I have had time to consider it. Dismissed.” She said with a small wave of her hand. Tyrion nodded and hopped down. He set out down to the beach where there was retinue of men with mining tools. In front of the men was the Lady Arya Stark, Jaime Lannister, and an older man with a grey and white beard. As he approached, she dismissed the men. Jaime led them to the mountain, presumably to begin the mining expedition. Arya turned to him, a courteous smile on her face. 

“My lord hand,” she began. “May I introduce you to Ser Davos Seaworth?” She gestured to the man with the beard. 

“Ah, you used to be hand for Stannis Baratheon, didn’t you?” Tyrion asked, recognizing the name. 

“Aye, I did. I served Stannis faithfully.” Tyrion raised his eyebrows. The Starks had the remnants of Stannis’ bannermen. They had far more alliances than Cersei or Daenerys and he was grateful they had no desire for the Iron Throne. In truth the Starks would be important allies, but he knew Daenerys would not accept them if they did not bend the knee. Tyrion pulled himself out of his thoughts. 

“And now you serve Jon Snow?” He asked wryly. 

“Davos is an advisor to the King,” Arya said briskly. “He was summoned by Lord Willas to aid in the smuggling of Queen Margaery out of King’s Landing.” The pieces were falling together now for him, of course Arya Stark had been behind the Tyrell plan. “In fact, if you will excuse me, Lord Tyrion, I must escort Ser Davos to find Lord Willas.” And with that she turned and walked away, Ser Davos right behind her. He let out a sigh. They had yet to tell Lady Stark, but a raven from her brother had come two days prior and he had reclaimed the Riverlands, placing Edmure Tully back in Riverrun. He had promised her revenge on the Freys as well and Tyrion was troubled by what that meant. If Lord Tully would kneel before Robb Stark once, he would likely kneel for Arya Stark as well. They  _ had  _ to have the Vale and the Riverlands if Daenerys was ever to consider relinquishing the North. Wheels began spinning in his head and he rushed back to the castle to speak with the queen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the Southron aspects of this story are more of the background, next chapter will have a slight time skip and the events will have already unfolded.


	17. Sansa II

 

> _My Dearest Sansa,_
> 
> _I write to you from my home in Highgarden where I have escaped to safely. There is little left to King’s Landing and I feel great sorrow. We have sworn fealty to Queen Daenerys and I urge you to do the same. I have tried, and failed, to convince your sister of the same._
> 
> _She is a delight, your sister, yet I fear for her life with this stubbornness. I hope against hope you can convince your half-brother before your sister arrives. She leaves tonight with ships of dragonglass, wheat, and other supplies gifted from the stores of Highgarden._
> 
> _I must confess I will miss having her around but I hope she may return one day, and you as well, dear girl. Please, the queen has already burned alive my own bannermen, Lord Randyll Tarly and his son, Dickon, for refusing to bend the knee. I dread the same fate of you and your family._
> 
> _With love,_
> 
> _Lady Margarey Tyrell_
> 
>  
> 
> **To my wife,**
> 
> _**Queen Daenerys now has reclaimed the Iron Throne. She has dismissed the High Septon and called a new man to serve in his stead. I call you to take your place as Lady of Casterly Rock by my side now, or if you choose you may dissolve our marriage.**_
> 
> _**We will be attending all the houses of Westeros for their signing of fealty to the Queen and any issue she may produce. As my wife, you are safe from retribution if your brother continues to prove treasonous, however if you choose to dissolve the marriage I can no longer offer you protection.** _
> 
> _**With Regards,** _
> 
> _**Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Hand of the Queen** _

           Sansa had no words in response to either letter, laying them back on her desk. She had received them within a fortnight of each other and felt a rise of bile in her throat. _As if Jon would listen to me,_ she laughed. Jon had the sam foolish dreams that Robb had, of building an empire. Jon had claimed all of the lands that Robb had lost and in fact had even more lands under his rule, with the Vale on his side. He had settled his little wildlings into unused lands, given them resources and homes. It unnerved her to see all of this. How her mother would shudder to see the North now. Jon had been at Harrenhall when she had last heard, no doubt awarding land and a title to some undeserving vagrant. She had sent a raven two nights ago giving him news of Arya’s return.

       It was bittersweet to have Arya return. Sansa had gone for so long with no family and when she finally returned to her home she still found herself alone. No one trusted her and she felt she was nothing but a silly little girl all over again. Arya coming home meant Jon returning as well and Sansa had no desire to see him again. She had never been fond of him when they were children and though she had almost missed him during her time at the Vale, she found herself seeing him in great distaste once more. He had died, she knew that much, and he was brought back. She did not know much of the Red God or his followers but she had a sinking feeling that Jon had come back _wrong_. She looked at the two letters on her desk and exhaled deeply. She rose and donned a cloak over her night shift and grabbed a lantern. It was late and there was no movement inside Winterfell as she made her way to the Sept. It was not in the greatest condition, having been wrecked by the Ironborn and there were no Northern folk who thought restoring it was of any priority. She had not prayed for a long time and was unsure if she truly wanted to now.

She knelt before the Mother, wishing dearly she had her own mother back. The grief was a dark cloud that had descended upon her. She prayed to the Mother for comfort, remembering Catelyn Stark’s warm embrace. She felt tears prick in her eyes. She knelt there silently crying for hours before she finally made her way back to her chambers. Daybreak had arrived and she felt in her heart that this day would be difficult. She had barely entered her chambers when a maidservant entered.

         Sansa dressed in silence and dismissed the girl as soon as her dress was fastened, preferring to style her own hair. She braided it back and let it hang straight down her back. Sansa admired her reflection in the mirror. Despite the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep she still looked quite lovely. The dress she had made herself, a simple grey gown with a dark blue surcoat embroidered with silver. She wore only a simple wolf necklace for jewelry, a reminder of her house to those who would argue otherwise. She still had the Lannister ring in her collection and she held it up. If she wore this, if she wrote Lord Tyrion back and accepted her place as his wife, she would be the Lady of Casterly Rock. She would be married to the Hand of the Queen. Tyrion had never been unkind to her, it was true. In fact he had tried to make her happy. She shook her head and set the ring down, opting to worry about a response later.

As Sansa broke her fast, Pod ran in breathing heavy.

        “My lady,” He began. “Your brother, he’s returned!” Sansa stood abruptly.

        “Jon?” She asked, though it was almost impossible. Pod shook his head and grinned brightly.

        “No, your younger brother, Lord Brandon, follow me, my lady, he is eager to speak with you.” Sansa allowed herself to be escorted by Podrick, though she was quite dumbstruck. _Bran?_ She knew he had not been killed by Theon but she had heard no news. She began to feel hopeful in a way she had not felt in quite some time. Podrick escorted her to the godswood which was a surprising place to go straight away, in her opinion. As soon as she saw Bran she rushed to him in a most unladylike manner. She embraced him, tears already flowing. She knelt by his side, looking up at the boy she had not seen in almost six years. He was twelve now, she supposed, the same age she had been when King Robert had arrived in Winterfell. Behind him was a wildling girl with long brown hair knotted behind her head and green eyes. She was dressed in furs and rags, similar to what Bran himself was wearing. Sansa lay her head on her brother’s lap, crying tears of joy. He stroked her hair gently.

       “My sister,” He spoke, no longer sounding like the seven year old boy she remembered. “You look like Mother.” His voice was soft and wistful. When she looked up she saw that he, too, had tears in his eyes. Sansa kissed his cheeks and embraced him once more.

      “I prayed to her last night,” She confessed. “I prayed for comfort, for _anything_ , to be less alone. She sent you to me, didn’t she?” Bran got a sad look in his eyes then and reached into his furs.

      “In a way, yes, I suppose she did.” He said slowly, presenting the Winter Crown.  


	18. Arya V

       Arya stopped her horse to dismount, her heart pounding in her chest. She ran to Jon and he lifted her up, spinning her around. He pressed kisses upon her face, his hands cupping her cheeks. She felt the time between them melt away, as if they had never been apart. Jon had let his hair grow, it fell upon his shoulders in soft brown curls, untamed. He wore all black still, though his clothes were hand stitched and embroidered with silver wolves. His face was more gaunt than it had been a year ago but his eyes sparkled with light. Her heart seemed to almost stop in the moment; she forgot anyone else even existed. 

      “Your grace,” A voice interrupted. The two broke apart to see the rest of the company. Ser Davos cleared his throat to speak again. “I thought perhaps you would like to inspect the dragon glass.” He gestured to the men unloading the crates. Jon put on his lord’s face and nodded.

     “Yes, Ser Davos lead them to the forge, Lady Brienne, please escort my lady sister to her chamber,” He kissed Arya on the head softly. “Tomorrow little sister we will hear how your journey fared. Tonight we will celebrate your return.” He spoke in a murmur. He turned to Jaime, standing tall behind Arya. “I believe I owe you an apology. You kept my sister safe, a task she no doubt made difficult for you. You have my deepest gratitude.” Jaime bowed deeply. 

     “Thank you, your grace.” 

Arya flushed and mumbled out a goodbye before following Brienne. She only halfway listened to Brienne as they walked, she was discussing the castle of course, business that Arya normally would invest her thoughts in. She felt so tired, they had been traveling for so long. They had ridden from White Harbor as fast as possible. Arya had wanted to ride through the night, so great was her longing for home. The Tyrells had offered for her to stay in the Reach longer but Arya had told them fervently that her place was in Winterfell-with Jon. 

_      Margarey had dressed Arya in a sky blue lace gown, unlike any dress she had known. The sleeves fell just off her shoulders, extending into soft silk that brushed her wrists. The neckline was dangerously low, going to her waist where she wore a silver belt above the skirt of the dress, which fell in layers of lace and silk. It was incredibly light, a relief in the heat of the South, though Margarey had noted it was far cooler than the usual weather of Highgarden. Arya’s hair was pulled back loosely with a hairpiece. Margarey stood behind her with a hand on Arya’s shoulder, looking into a mirror.  _

_       “You look beautiful.” Margarey said kindly. Arya flushed. Margarey was the kind of sister Arya had wanted, though Arya knew her Father would be disappointed in her for thinking that. “Do you really have to leave tonight?” Margarey asked. “You would be safe here, protected.” Arya shook her head.  _

_       “I cannot stay away from Jon any longer… We are not meant to be separated. He is a part of me as much as I am a part of him.” Margarey sighed.  _

_      “I will pray for you then, to any god who will listen.” Arya smiled softly and let the older girl escort her to the feast.  _

      Arya let herself fall onto her featherbed with a sigh of exhaustion. She felt relief to finally be returned. The door had barely closed behind Brienne when Arya fell into a deep slumber. 

Arya was awoken by a rapping upon her door. She must have slept for far longer than she meant to and quickly opened her chamber door. She was faced with a young woman, older than herself, in fine but simple clothes, with a mess of dark hair. 

       “Lady Arya, I am Meera Reed, I am quite pleased to finally meet you. Bran speaks very highly of you,” Arya felt her heart pound in her chest, she had heard Bran was alive of course, but she had not seen any sign of him upon her arrival. “he would like it if you would join him in the godswood.” Meera smiled a friendly smile and Arya returned one. 

     “Yes, of course. I will join him at once, thank you Lady Meera, and thank you as well for bringing him home.” Arya replied.

**“** Just Meera will do, I am glad to see Brandon Stark returned home as well.” Meera bowed her head. “Just as I am glad to have a respite from our journey together.” Arya looked down, able to relate to the feeling immensely. She grasped Meera’s hand. 

     “Please, feel welcome to stay as long as you like.” The girls smiled at each other. 

     “Allow me to escort you to the godswood, princess.” Meera said kindly. Arya nodded. 

     “Please just call me Arya, I’m not much of a proper princess.” She replied lightheartedly, following Meera away.

* * *

 

      Arya could not contain her joy when she saw her brother. He sat before the Heart Tree in a chair with wheels. She ran to him, leaving Meera behind. He smiled at her and the two embraced warmly. “I have missed you so much.” She whispered, her face buried in his chest.

     “I have missed you as well, sister. Come, sit with me, I have much to tell.” Bran spoke warmly, but Arya noticed he had a grim expression.  _ He looks so much like Robb.  _ She thought sadly. The fond memories of youth were tainted with her last memory of Robb. She pushed them aside as best she could. “In fact, I have a gift for you.” Arya looked at him, puzzled. Bran made a motion and Arya turned to see Meera holding a long object wrapped in cloth. Meera handed it to Bran, who presented to Arya. 

She removed the cloth carefully and felt tears prick at her eyes. 

     “This was stolen from me.” She said painfully. “How is that you have come to have it?” She picked Needle up delicately, examining it. 

     “After we returned from beyond the wall we had to travel South. I had to find the Brotherhood. One of them carried this. He told me he was waiting to give it back one day, along with an apology.” Bran explained. 

     “Gendry…” Arya breathed. Bran nodded in confirmation. 

     “That was not all I found among the Brotherhood Arya.” She could sense grief in his tone. “Do you remember Thoros of Myr? And Lord Beric?” He asked. 

     “They ransomed me to Robb.” She said bitterly.  _ They are the only reason I was in the Twins at all. _ She finished in her head. 

     “Lord Beric was gone when I came upon the Brotherhood, Arya, they were led instead by a...a woman. She was resurrected by Thoros as well. They called her Lady Stoneheart, but in another life she had been known as,” Bran took a deep breath before he finished. “As Catelyn Stark.”  Images flooded her mind, memories of her mother’s corpse, stripped naked and tossed into the river. She felt bile rise in her throat. She looked at Bran, who had tears in his blue eyes, the eyes of their mother. “Lady Stoneheart is no more.” He said quietly. 

_ Can you bring back a man without a head?  _ She had once asked, too naive then. She shuddered to imagine grotesque version of her mother that was brought back. 

     “Did you do it?” She asked. Bran nodded and she took a small comfort that it had not been another enemy. Bran then pulled out a dagger. It was Valyrian Steel, with a gold and ruby pommel. 

     “She saved my life from this blade once. I used it to end hers.” He sounded disgusted. “Arya, I know you have the Wolf Dreams. I am plagued by dreams too, even when I am awake, I am always dreaming.” He handed her the dagger. “I am so sorry, sister, for I have seen your fate. There is a great burden placed on your shoulders and you will need this blade.”  


End file.
